


So Long Already

by thorofassguard



Category: Simon & Garfunkel
Genre: 60s, 70s, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Sad, bridge over troubled water, s&g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 07:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorofassguard/pseuds/thorofassguard
Summary: My first time writing S&G fanfic! Set in 1969 as Paul and Artie prepared to recordBridge Over Troubled Water. Very sad, so get ready for some angst.





	So Long Already

“‘All of the nights we’d harmonize till dawn’?” Art scoffed, grasping the paper with scribbled-down lyrics that his music partner had handed him. “Paul, I asked you to write a song about Frank Lloyd Wright, not about us.”

The smaller man halfheartedly chuckled. “To be fair, Artie, I didn’t even know who Frank Lloyd Wright was.”

Art’s eyes scanned the words over and over, the paper now crumpled up from his tight grip. He didn’t care about the fairly accurate allusions to Frank Lloyd Wright, because what really stood out in the lyrics were those obvious references to his friendship with Paul. Those early days, learning songs while sprawled across the bed, perfecting harmonies in their teenaged voices. Art tried to push away the bittersweet nostalgia, but it was a failed attempt. Instead, he allowed the sadness to become anger bubbling up inside him. 

“It’s just not fair to me,” he retorted. “You’re writing all these songs about how much you miss me, and it all seems a bit passive aggressive—don’t you think?— and I really, truly believe it would be better for the both of us if you just said what you want to say to my face. I’m right here, Paul, and you can’t even seem to come to terms with your emotions enough to talk to me like an adult!”

Paul was struggling with his pent-up hurt just as much as Art. Art could see it in the way he looked up at him with his strained eyes and his furrowed brows. 

While Art was away filming _Catch-22_ , Paul got lonely. All he had to hold onto were the memories, good and bad, but all painful in the same way. He felt an unbearable, agonizing emptiness looming over him. Writing songs was the only way he knew how to let out that emptiness, that longing. 

“The truth is, I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how to talk to me? You’ve been talking to me since we were kids,” Art said. 

Paul sighed, unable to conjure up the right words. “It’s... it’s different, Artie. What do I say to the person who abandoned me?”

“Abandoned you?” Art faked a laugh. “God, you’re so self-absorbed. Can’t even let other people have their own lives. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. You’ve got your music career, and sure, I do too, but you know you get all the glory. What’s so wrong about me trying to get some of my own glory? Such a selfish asshole, really. This is so typical of you.” 

Art knew he shouldn’t have said that the minute he looked back at Paul. His face was turning red and it looked like smoke was about to shoot out of his ears, but there was an evident pain in his eyes. “I’m selfish? We’re supposed to be a team here, and you just go and leave me,” he said. 

“Says the guy who went off to England and made an entire album without me,” Art shot back. 

“But when push comes to shove, even with a few interruptions, we’ve been a team since we were kids. You know this.” When Art looked away and all Paul could see were his thick curls covering the back of his head, he reluctantly put a hand on his arm to continue trying to coax the feelings out of him. “Remember that one summer in high school, in your room?” he whispered. 

Art gulped. He remembered. 

***

_A humid summer night in the Garfunkel household, Art sitting in his room with Paul who came to spend the night. No homework to do, just harmonies to practice. The two of them getting too hot to continue, lying across his bed and staring at the ceiling. Talking about whatever came to their minds, whether it be music, baseball, girls..._

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_“How do you do it?” Paul asked._

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_Art looked over at him. “Do what?”_

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_“Get all the girls at school to go crazy for you. How do you do it?”_

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_“I dunno, it just happens, really.”_

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_“Girls never seem to feel that way about me,” Paul mumbled. His gaze was still fixated on the ceiling, but his thoughts were swimming rapidly around his head, consuming his conscience._

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_“It’ll happen at some point. You just have to get more comfortable around them.”_

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_Paul finally turned to face his friend, his eyes scanning his feautures. “Artie, you’ve kissed girls before, right?” he asked in a hushed voice._

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_“Yeah.”_

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_Paul paused, pondering for a moment. “Can you show me how?”_

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_Art sat up, startled by the request. “What do you mean?"_

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_Paul suddenly felt butterflies in his stomach and his heart was beating a million times a minute. He knew what he was asking was definitely out of line, so he did what he always did when he was anxious: ramble. “I mean, how am I gonna learn from you just talking at me while I take notes or something? It just seems stupid. Wouldn’t I learn better if you, I don’t know-“_

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_“Are you saying you want me to kiss you, Paul?” Artie said a little louder than he’d hoped._

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_Paul’s eyes widened and he shushed him. He felt his cheeks burning and he just wanted to hurl himself out the window and forget he ever asked._

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_“Paul?” Art asked, softly this time._

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_“Okay, maybe. But just to practice. Don’t think anything of it, I just want girls to like me. I don’t want... you to like me. That would be wrong.”_

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_Art scooted back a few inches and thought about it. They were in the privacy of his own room late at night, and surely his parents wouldn’t be awake at this point. There wouldn’t be any harm in it if no one could find out._

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_“Fine.”_

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_“Really?”_

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_“Yes, I said fine, alright?” Art snapped. Paul’s shoulders dropped a little bit, taken aback by his tone._

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_“Sorry,” Art said. “Let’s just get it over with.”_

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_Art squinted his eyes shut, more tensed up than he had ever been before a kiss, as he awkwardly moved his face towards his friend._

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_“Wait,” Paul said suddenly. “Where does my face go?”_

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_Art groaned. “What are you talking about, Paul?”_

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_“I mean, where do I put my face?”_

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_“You just have to feel it in the moment, okay? Don’t worry about it. If you keep asking questions I’m not gonna help you.”_

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_“Okay,” Paul mumbled._

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_Art’s hands found their way to Paul’s face, cupping his jawline to guide him. They more easily moved closer together until their lips locked. Paul noted that Art tasted sweet and he knew how to kiss so rhythmically, so beautifully. Art tasted the summer sweat on Paul’s smooth lips as he attempted to keep up with Art. Noticing Paul’s struggle, Art slowed down and returned to gentle kisses, causing a content sigh to leave Paul’s slightly parted lips. As Paul wrapped his arms around Art’s neck and began to match his pace, they both realized how natural it felt to be holding each other, kissing. Paul’s original intent was to learn how to kiss a girl, but that was completely out of his mind at this point. All he wanted was Art. And Art felt the same._

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_They continued to meet nightly that summer, beginning to “practice kissing” whenever staring at each other’s lips while singing became too torturous to handle. They nearly got caught by Art’s mother once, but never enough for them to worry. They continued to go on innocent dates with girls from their school, but the naive teenage kisses they shared with those girls didn’t feel as passionate and true as the kisses Paul and Art shared with each other._

***

They hadn’t kissed in years, limiting their relationship to simply platonic and professional with the usual ups and downs. They both tried to push that summer out of their memories, but the kisses always found a way to pop up in their brains every once in a while. Sometimes all it would take was looking over at the other asleep in the bed opposite theirs in a hotel room they shared on tour, and then the longing would resume. But they never acted on it. 

But Paul seemed to trigger a longing so demanding that Art just couldn’t ignore it.

Like always, Art hid his desire behind a glare. “Don’t try going soft on me,” he hissed. “It’s not going to work. I know it’s all an act. I know you don’t really care about that summer.” 

Paul, who was usually so quick to fire back, looked like a wounded puppy. His glassy eyes and quivering lip indicated to Art that he was going to have a breakdown, something Art had only witnessed one or two times before. And Paul’s breakdowns weren’t pretty. 

“I care... about that summer,” he barely managed to say as he stifled his despair. 

Neither of them said anything in a while. Paul bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood, holding back a waterfall of tears. Art shifted uncomfortably between his two feet. He noticed the lyric sheet was still in his hand, so he threw it over his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets. They both knew what the other was thinking. They both knew about the tension lingering in the room the second that one summer was mentioned. It was up to them to bottle it up. 

Or act on it. 

“Kiss me, Artie,” Paul said softly. “Like old times.”

Art wanted to, he really wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer to Paul. He kept telling himself that this was the man who wrote passive-aggressive songs instead of telling Art how he really felt, that this was not the teenage boy he was in love with that one summer. 

“Please, Artie.” 

The yearning in Paul’s shaky voice was too much to ignore. He sounded like he was aching inside, like the longing still was a weight on his heart even after all these years. He sounded so sincere it almost frightened Art. He had never heard Paul sound so sure of something in his life. 

And, just like the first night they kissed so long ago, Art gave in. Without a word, he leaned down and pulled Paul as close to him as he possibly could until every part of their body was pressed against each other. Before touching his lips with his, he kissed Paul’s tear-laden cheeks, running his thumbs against his undereyes to wipe any new tears away. He naturally let his hands move back and rest on Paul’s cheeks as he positioned his mouth to kiss him. Paul let out a staggered breath as he returned the kiss and wrapped himself around Art so tightly that it felt like a snake cutting off his circulation. 

“I don’t think I cried this much when we used to do this,” Paul said in between kisses to lighten the mood and halt his tears. 

Art chuckled. “No, you didn’t.” His eyes began to dampen too as he added, “But it’s okay.” 

And there they were, once naive teenage boys giggling as they “practiced kissing”, now young yet aging men who were practically sobbing through desperate kisses. They had never felt such a powerful need for body contact with each other, even after the desire was hidden inside them in years’ past. 

The kisses triggered memories of those phone calls with Paul that Art had from his trailer in Mexico, those quiet and timid exchanges of “I miss you” before hanging up, Paul feeling an aching in his heart while Art felt overcome with guilt for being away from his best friend. The kisses seemed to make up for the fight they just had, for Art’s anger about “So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright”, for Paul’s feeling of betrayal. 

But not for long. 

When Paul eventually pulled away, Art snapped back into reality. It wasn’t long before he remembered his frustration with Paul, how he only cared about himself, how he wasn’t man enough to tell Art what was bothering him in a mature manner.

“This isn’t going to work,” Art said.

Paul, still overwhelmed with ecstasy, tilted his head and squinted. “What isn’t going to work?”

“Us, Paul. This. Our career.” 

Something clicked in Paul’s brain. He suddenly remembered his grudges, too, and everything began to make sense. “I know,” he sighed, “But I want it to.” 

“I know.”

“What about all those times you said you wouldn’t sing with anyone but me?” Paul couldn’t control the quiver in his voice when he asked that. He felt the tears form in his eyes again. 

It tore Art apart to see Paul standing before him so broken, so vulnerable, his hand still holding onto his arm. Just that simple touch made Art melt. It broke him to call the whole Simon & Garfunkel act off, but he just couldn’t take the longing anymore. 

“Let’s just finish the record, Paul.” 

“Then, what, it’s over?” 

Art couldn’t even bare to look into Paul’s tear-filled brown eyes as he said, “I think so.” 

Paul crossed his arms and turned away, taking a deep breath. “I understand. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“We’ll just put all we’ve got into this record, alright?” Art squeezed Paul’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be good.”

Paul nodded, then tilted his head up to force the tears back inside. He let out a pitiful laugh, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve. Art pulled him into another hug before letting him go and smiling warmly. 

“Now let’s work on this Frank Lloyd Wright song.”


End file.
